Paradise Redefined
by OyHumbug
Summary: Set during Season One, forget everything else that has happened on the show. Booth went on vacation... and he stayed on vacation.
1. Chapter 1

**Paradise Redefined**

**Chapter One**

"Come on, Bones! Time's a wasting. Let's light a fire under that… _posterior_… of yours and get to the beach."

His partner did not respond.

Still yelling through the wooden door that separated him from Brennan's room, unmindful of the fact that other guests might be sleeping in or spending a romantic day in bed with their significant other, Booth called out once more. "I know it takes girls longer to make sure everything's tucked in and just right, but jeez, Bones, it's going to be night before you're satisfied with your suit."

He, on the other hand, had not been so picky with his appearance. As soon as he woke up, he scrambled into the shower, brushed his teeth and then threw on the very first pair of swim trunks he encountered in his duffle bag. A typical guy, he only needed the small carryon to contain his ten pairs of trunks (why do laundry when you're on vacation?), a few t-shirts in case he went anywhere that required actual clothes, and a couple pairs of underwear for when he was just lounging around in his room. After all, he planned to spend all day, every day at the beach, and he sure as hell didn't need anything to sleep in while in paradise.

But Bones…? It was fair to say that she did not subscribe to the minimalist ideal when on vacation. On a whim that he was pretty sure was part desperation and part insanity on his part, he had asked her to go with him to Jamaica while sitting alone - drinking, feeling sorry for himself at Wong Fu's. Obviously, booze and self-pity were not conducive to making good decisions. He had first realized that when Bones showed up at the airport with _several _full-sized suitcases on wheels.

Typically, she was a pretty level-headed woman, almost to the point of making him feel like the girl. It didn't bother her to get her hands dirty, and, though she took professional pride in her appearance, once she left her apartment in the morning, how she looked was the last thing on her mind for the rest of her day, so Booth had been a little shocked to see his partner dragging along her entire wardrobe. When he questioned her, she revealed that she'd never been on a non-working trip before, so she wasn't sure what she would need. She brought casual clothes for the beach, semi-casual clothes for sight-seeing, moderately dressy clothes for going out to dinner, formal clothes just in case they wanted to splurge and attend a four-star restaurant, and work clothes, too, just in case they stumbled upon a dead body or two.

His second clue that asking Bones to go on vacation with him was a bad idea was when she upgraded her seat to first class and then proceeded to book one of the nicest suites their hotel had to offer when they checked in. Granted, he sure as hell hadn't been planning on the two of them shacking up in his room together, but he was perfectly capable of paying for his partner to have the room next to his. After all, _he _was the one who had invited her (stupidly), and she had made it no secret that the only reason she had agreed to go with him was to make sure that he returned after his ten days were up.

Basically, she was his glorified babysitter.

He heard her voice from behind the door before he actually saw her, but, still, Booth didn't stand up or relinquish his spot leaning against the wall opposite Bones' suite. "You told me the whole point of non-working vacations was to relax. How exactly is you rushing me and yelling like a barbarian from outside my hotel room supposed to help me relax?"

He had a retort. It was right there, perched conveniently on the tip of his tongue, but, once his gaze landed upon his partner, Booth couldn't get his mouth to work. She looked…

Ridiculous!

Bones, however, felt no such hesitation. "That's all you're going to wear?"

"Well, I was going to slip on my snow suit… like someone else I know, but I realized this morning when I went to get dressed that I left it at home… in the store where it belongs." Finally, the words he had wanted to express moments before came flowing off his lips. "What the hell is with your get-up, Grandma?"

"Do you have any idea how damaging UV Rays are to the human dermis?"

"We're in Jamaica, Bones," Booth sighed, pushing away from the wall to begin their trek together towards the elevator. "The rule here is, if Captain Morgan wouldn't say something, neither can you."

"I don't know who that is."

He rolled his eyes. "That's not the point."

Sounding confused, his partner asked, "then why bring it up in the first…?"

Interrupting her, he explained, "the point is that you can't talk about science the whole time we're here. You can't use words like dermis when something as simple as skin would get your point across. And you can't turn this into a Convention on the Evils of Global Warming for one, okay, Bones?"

"Fine," she relented, pressing the down button to call the lift to her top floor suite, but he could tell – no he just knew – that hearing that one word from her meant anything but 'fine.' "If you want to subject yourself to harmful UV rays, rays strong enough to melt polar ice caps millions of years older than you are, be my guest. If you want to wake up one morning and find that one of your moles has changed colors and grown, who am I to stop you? If you want to face round after debilitating round of chemo therapy and radiation, I'll keep my mouth shut. And, if you want to explain to Parker why he's going to have to grow up without a father simply because his dad was too proud to…"

This time it was his turn to concede. However, unlike Bones, he really meant it. "Fine," Booth yelled, stomping onto the elevator and fairly punching the light for the first floor. "I'll wear some damn sun block."

His partner simply shrugged her completely covered shoulders. In fact, her entire body sans her face was covered somehow by some kind of protective cloth. "If you insist."

Neither of them said another word as they made their way out of the hotel and down towards the ocean. Despite his complaints, the beach was still relatively empty, so they had their choice of locations to set up for the day. Somehow, though, Bones managed to find the only spot on the visible coastline with any shade and promptly set their towels and her umbrella up there. He followed, dutifully, without complaint, knowing that he was going to have to be more selective when picking his battles with his partner during their next ten days together, and the first one on his list was doing something about her bizarre and totally unreasonable outfit. She looked more like she was taking a trip into the Pennsylvania Dutch Country than she was to the Caribbean.

The dress she wore was of a lightweight material. What kind, he had no clue, and, frankly, he could have cared less. The point was that the sack was long enough to brush against and hide even the tips of his partners' exposed toes, hiding them from the sun's _evil _rays, the sleeves hung down way past her hands, almost as though the dress was made for the Jolly Green Giant's girlfriend and not a mere five foot, nine inch mortal woman, and the neck was high enough to be considered practically clerical. The real question was where the hell had Bones managed to find such an absurd piece of clothing? To top the getup off, she also wore a wide, straw brimmed hat which kept bumping into him and scratching his skin and a pair of sunglasses big enough for the entire island's population to share at the same time.

As they both sat down, he to take off his sandals and his own pair of shades and Bones to do… who knows what, Booth was just about ready to skip off and go into the water when he felt his partner nudge him with something cool and smooth. Glancing in her direction, he saw that she held a bottle of sun block out to him, a knowing look upon her practically hidden face as if she was fully aware that he had intended to break his promise. Grumbling, he slathered on the greasy, milky white lotion, feeling like a paranoid girl the entire time. If the guys from the Bureau ever found out about that moment, he'd never live it down.

By the time he finished with everything but his back, Bones was calmly, serenely reclined beside him, her nose buried in some kind of scientific journal. That would definitely have to go and soon, but, first, he needed her help. "Here," he demanded, shoving the bottle back into her hands. "I can't reach."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it," she asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. As Booth continued to just stare at her, she further protested, "it's not my fault you're not dexterous enough to put sun screen on your own back. Remember how I suggested you take some yoga classes? They would have helped with this, too, not just the tension."

"Trust me, Bones," he assured her cockily. "I'm flexible enough."

He could see a retort flash across her cool, knowing gaze, but she censored herself, held back, and Booth had a feeling he should be grateful for her small act of kindness. Although there was a part of him that was curious as to what his partner had intended upon saying, the larger part of him knew he was better off not knowing, so he simply turned around and waited for her to oblige him this one small favor. It took several minutes, but, eventually, he felt the splattering of lotion upon his already heated skin and a pair of soft, gentle hands upon his shoulders. If it had been anyone but Bones, he would have sighed in contentment.

"So, what do you want for breakfast?"

Cracking his eyes open slowly, Booth skirted his gaze towards his right side only to find the one thing he was afraid of seeing: his partner sitting beside him, an earnest, completely oblivious expression upon her smooth, pale face. If she was there, her hands entirely unoccupied, then who the hell was rubbing sun screen on his lower back?

Jumping forward as much as he could from his seated position, Booth whirled around to find a member of the hotel wait staff kneeled behind him. Unnecessarily, for the man's hands were no longer touching him, he snapped, "hey, keep those paws to yourself, buddy. I don't swing that way."

"Booth, you still haven't told me what you want to eat for…"

"Back this train up, Bones," he ordered her. "I thought I asked _you_ to put on my sun block for me?"

"No, you basically told me to. There was no requesting involved or implied, and I already applied my own up in my room, and I didn't want to get my hands dirtied again. Do you know that it will stain your nails if you don't wash your hands immediately after application?"

"I don't _have_ nails... at least, not the way girls do, so I really don't care. What I'm more worried about is the fact that you let some stranger feel me up!"

"Don't be melodramatic, Booth," his partner chastised him. "And Juan is not a stranger. He's a very nice young man who is working and paying his own way through college."

"What, you two are old friends now?"

"No, we just met this morning, but he's been very helpful," Bones informed him. "When I woke up at seven on the dot like I always do, I couldn't get back to sleep. However, while I was sitting in bed, I realized that the layout of my room was entirely wrong, so I called down to the front desk, and they sent Juan up to help me rearrange the furniture in my suite. I knew you'd be sleeping in, so I didn't want to bother you, but I also didn't want to waste the entire morning being unproductive. Tomorrow Juan and I are going to work together to rearrange the other suites."

"What, are you a Feng Shui expert now, too, Bones?"

Smugly, she replied, "I know enough. Besides, the point is that Juan isn't a stranger, so quit overreacting." Turning – _and smiling_ – towards the hotel employee, his partner said, "we'll both just take a serving of the fresh fruit salad this morning, for something light will be best for now, I think." After her new buddy left, she faced Booth once more. "Just because we're on vacation, that does not mean that breakfast is not just as vital and important here as it is at home."

He agreed. He always ate breakfast when he was on vacation, took full advantage of room service, but, when he had booked his trip to Jamaica, Booth had visions of entirely different sorts of meals in his mind. Instead of health food on the beach with his partner, he had seen himself enjoying rich, decadent food off of his girlfriend's back, her stomach, her thighs, but Tessa had essentially broken up with him, scared off by Angela's so-called dating steps, and, instead of pancakes, syrup, and sex in bed, he was getting fruit served to him by Juan under the only goddamned shade tree located on Jamaica's entire coastline.

Rather than say all of that, though, Booth simply barked, "so what? Now you're ordering for me, too, Bones?" In response, his partner merely shrugged her shoulders and went back to reading her hoity-toity nerd magazine. "Give me that," he snapped, reaching forward and plucking the journal from between her fingers.

Before her exasperated "hey!" could even escape her bare, smooth lips, he was up and running towards the waves, periodical flapping rapidly open and closed in the breeze. "Give that back," Bones demanded from her still reclined position on the towel. When he didn't listen and, instead, dropped it unceremoniously into the sandy, damp edges of the ocean's reach, she squealed, "Booth!" He only grinned in reply.

Satisfied that the quarterly was sufficiently damaged to the point where it would be unreadable, he returned to their chosen spot on the beach and handed his partner back her reading material. "Here you go."

"What did you do that for?"

"We're here to have fun, Bones, not to work."

"I read that for… gratification," she protested, irritated. "Just because you don't enjoy enriching your own mind, that does not mean that the rest of us desire to lead a philistine lifestyle."

"Just… tone it down a notch or two while we're here, okay? Read a novel instead of a geek journal. Oh, and, for the record," Booth added, grinning smugly. "If you're getting your gratification in life from a bunch of scholarly articles, you're definitely doing something wrong, Bones."

She glowered at him, and he sat back smugly to wait for their breakfast to arrive. Once it did, they both ate in silence, or, to be more precise, his partner ate, and he inhaled, shoveling the food into his mouth so quickly he didn't even taste the various textures and flavors of the tropical, sweet fruit. While Booth had no doubt that the pineapple, papayas, and mangoes were delicious, he really didn't care about eating; he just wanted to escape into the water, lose himself in the hypnotic, powerful, rhythmic pull of the untamable ocean's waves, for he knew that it was the only place he'd be able to relax and forget everything that he didn't want to think about – Tessa; work; his lack of parental rights and time with Parker; his unnatural, inexcusable, and confusing disappointment over the fact that Bones wasn't wearing a bikini.

Finished, he jumped up and went to jog down to the sea when Bones' voice shattered all his carefully constructed plans. "You can't go swimming for at least thirty minutes, Booth. You just ate."

Spinning around on the heels of his feet, he regarded his partner closely. "What?"

"You'll get sick," she explained, as if she was his mother, as if he should already know better, as if he actually cared about a little stomach ache. "And, if you get a cramp while you're out in the water, you could drown, Booth. While I'm an excellent swimmer, I don't think I'm strong enough to drag your body back to the beach, especially if you were dead, wet weight. Just sit here for a little while. Time will pass quickly enough."

"Juan!" But it wouldn't. He already felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. He needed to get away. NOW. When the waiter didn't arrive immediately, he searched frantically for him and bellowed, "JUAN," once more.

"Calm down, Booth. He'll get here as soon as he can."

Soon wasn't fast enough, though. Plus, by the time he did arrive, the younger man was smirking. "More sun block, sir?"

"Very funny, Christopher Lowell," he snapped, glaring at the server. "Get me a drink, something alcoholic, and make it whatever has the most rum in it."

"Booth, do you really think that's such a good idea? It's not even noon yet."

"C'est la vie, Bones; c'est la vie."

"That really isn't an accurate use of the term," his partner argued, but, by that time, Juan was already scrambling back with his drink, so he really didn't care.

Instead of answering, he downed his sickly saccharine, alcoholic beverage, ordered another right away, and ignored Bones' pointedly concerned glances. Once the liquor was satisfyingly buoying his mood, he stood up and dusted off imaginary sand that wasn't actually on his hands. "What do you say to the idea of the two of us building a sand castle together, eh, Bones?"

"Wouldn't that just be a waste of time," she questioned. "It'll just get destroyed when the tide changes later."

"Then we'll build another one tomorrow," he suggested, forcing himself to sound and feel happy. "Between your annoying habit of being a perfectionist and my expert bucket tipping abilities, we'll make a castle that could rival the finest in Europe."

"You want to build one that's already crumbling down?"

Frustrated, he growled, shifting so that he was facing his partner. "Stand up, Bones."

"What? Why?"

Leaning forward, Booth pulled her up by both of her hands and, without explanation, set them both on a path back towards the hotel. "Because we're going shopping."

"For what," she asked. "Things to build a sand castle with? That seems like an entirely inappropriate waste of money, Booth."

"We're going to buy you a bathing suit, and you're going to go into the water with me." When she went to protest, he added, "and you're going to like it, too."

"What - the suit or swimming," his partner wanted to know.

Simply stated, he responded, "both," while literally steering and propelling her into the hotel's expensive boutique. Without allowing her a chance to look and shop for herself, he grabbed the first bikini that caught his eye, walked up to the register, and charged it to his bill. Mouth wide and gaping open, Bones simply watched him in shock as he pulled her out of the store, towards the elevator, and, eventually, pushed her into her hotel room to change. As he waited, time seemed to drag by even slower than it had been on the beach while he counted down his post-eating thirty minute swimming timeout, but, eventually, he heard his partner moving around on the opposite side of the door, and he snapped to attention, standing straight and alert as he casually (eagerly) waited for her to join him once again.

"I think you dropped a part of this swimsuit on the way up here, Booth, because this is just indecent."

His fingers started to tremble, and his hands started to fidget. No matter what, he couldn't seem to hold them still.

"I can't wear this out onto the beach. I'll permanently corrupt all the children, and the parents will complain about how I'm dressed or, more precisely, how I'm undressed, and we'll get kicked out of the hotel."

His palms started to sweat.

"I think I get more coverage from my own bra and underwear, Booth."

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. His chest felt tight, but he enjoyed every oxygen deprived moment.

And that's when he woke up.

Gasping for breath, Booth ricocheted up in his expansive, lonely hotel bed, immediately awake and cognizant of his surroundings. For what felt like the hundredth torturous time, he had just experienced the same dream yet again. Every night, every time he fell asleep, he saw her. While it would have made sense that Bones infiltrated his mind even when he was on vacation, after all they spent practically all day, every day together back home because they were partners, that didn't explain the suddenly erotic turn his thoughts towards the woman he worked with had taken.

Bones was his friend. That's it! He didn't find her attractive. He didn't constantly wonder what it would be like to see her in a skimpy bikini… or maybe even less. And he certainly shouldn't wake up aroused simply at the thought of going swimming with her.

Pushing aside the light sheet he had been covered with, Booth stumbled to his feet, pulling on a pair of clean swim trunks and a t-shirt from his duffle bag. Leaving his room with nothing but the key card he would need to return with later, he headed towards the elevator that would take him downstairs to the all-night bar. Just like his previous evenings in paradise, he was going to get drunk. He _needed _to get drunk, so much so that he simply ignored the ringing phone beside his bed.

Whoever it was, they could wait until tomorrow… or, maybe, even until next week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Brennan was pretty damn excited.

Booth had returned from his vacation five days ago, and she had still yet to hear from her partner. Instead, she sat in the empty, rather drab office of his boss, FBI Deputy Director Cullen, waiting for the upper Agent to meet with her. Add those two things together, and she came up with a solution that basically guaranteed her a gun.

Despite Booth's warnings that Cullen didn't like her and wouldn't approve her concealed weapon petition, she had submitted the paperwork anyway. After all, Booth's decision was based solely on his emotions, not fact… just like her partner did everything else. Yes, she had shot someone in the leg, but there were extenuating circumstances, and she felt as though her actions during their first official case together as partners had been justified if not even honorable. Booth just possessed an ingrained, inherent chauvinistic gene… which led to his alpha male behavior towards her and all other women. Despite the fact that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, he felt the need to protect her anyway. Though she found the urge annoying, she also understood its origins and just how deeply it was rooted into her partner's psyche.

However, Deputy Director Cullen was a different matter. He had absolutely no emotional investment in her or her safety. To him, she was a tool - a pawn, so to speak - in the war he waged against crime, and she knew that he would do everything within his power to make sure that she was as capable as she could possibly be when it came to doing her job. If that meant granting her permission to carry a gun, despite Booth's biased protests, then that's exactly what the older man would do, and Booth knew it, too.

That's why he had yet to get in contact with her since returning to D.C.. He was aware of his boss' impending decision, disagreed with it, and was off, pouting somewhere, no doubt brainstorming up ways to keep her from actually using her weapon once she was indeed allowed to carry it. He'd probably attempt to keep her securely tucked away in the lab more, he'd try – and fail miserably – to go back on his word and refuse her access to the actual crime scenes and his duties in the field, and he might even go so far as to talk to Angela behind her back, intent upon using her best friend's concern for her safety and well-being against her.

Well, she was ready for him and anything that he had to offer as an offensive. While she wouldn't purposely evoke him, she would have her defenses set, and Brennan knew that, if nothing else, she could be even more stubborn and willful than Booth when she put her mind to it. Besides, after not seeing him for fifteen days – half a month – she was almost looking forward to their first argument. There was something so very stimulating about one of their 'you're just a squint, and I'm an uncompromising federal agent' disputes. Granted, her superior intellect made it so that she always won, but that didn't mean she didn't enjoy the battle just the same.

The only thing that was slightly alarming was the fact that she had referred to herself as a squint. Even if it was only said silently in a derisive manner inside of her own mind, Brennan could see little difference at the moment. However, if nothing else could showcase just how effective her partnership was with Booth, her little subconscious slip up could, for she was beginning to emulate his habits. Their vocabularies were blending, their ideals twisting together, their thought processes becoming one. Soon, if she wasn't careful, she'd be wearing garish accessories, constantly squeezing a stress ball, and eating pie.

She hated pie.

"Doctor Brennan," Deputy Director Cullen greeted her as he stepped into his office and immediately sank down into his leather desk chair. They didn't shake hands, he never offered her anything to drink, and he certainly didn't open up their discussion with small talk. She appreciated such gestures of professionalism on his behalf. Obviously, he understood her time was extremely valuable. So, she smiled slightly in return, saying nothing, thankful that his abrupt entrance provided the perfect distraction from her former, digressing, most perplexing of thoughts.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to meet with me today."

"Actually, no," Brennan interjected, feeling and knowing that she sounded slightly smug. Reclining back further into her own chair, she crossed her legs before continuing. "I think your reasons were quite apparent."

He nodded, leaning back and sighing. "Well, they don't call you a genius for nothing."

"No, sir."

"I'm going to have to do some reshuffling, but, before the week's out, I should be able to tell you who your new partner is. Ideally, you would have continued to work with Agent Booth. The two of you seemed to have been building a fairly decent partnership, your arrest rate was superb, and, somehow, don't ask me, he seemed capable of keeping you and your fellow squints under control."

"Hey," Brennan protested, her crossed leg slamming to the floor to rest beside her fixed foot. This was not how their conversation was supposed to be progressing. He wasn't supposed to be talking down to her, Booth wasn't supposed to stop being her partner, and why the hell hadn't he mentioned her concealed weapon application yet?

However, Cullen simply ignored her loud protest and carried on. "Frankly, at this point, your work, along with the work of your colleagues at the Jeffersonian, is simply too valuable to this agency for us to terminate your contract. The same allowances will be made, of course. You'll be permitted access to the crime scene, and you'll attend any and every questioning you wish to be a part of."

Weakly, she protested, "but what about my gun?"

"Excuse me?"

"I thought you asked to meet with me to discuss my application to carry a concealed weapon."

"Oh, I thought Booth already told you that was denied," the deputy director remarked offhandedly, waving away her concerns, dismissing them. "I can't have you carrying around a gun. You shot a man in the leg."

"A man who was a murderer," Brennan objected. Frankly, she felt as though she had taken part in the same argument a dozen times already. When was somebody actually going to listen to her?

"Even murders have rights, Doctor."

She knew it was undignified, she knew it was childish, but she did it anyway; she snorted in contempt. "Says the man who employees me to put them away."

"Yes, exactly," Cullen responded calmly. "Not kill them."

She rolled her eyes. "He wasn't going to die. I had that crazy stalker staunch the blood flow. Besides," she added in one last, desperate effort, "if I wouldn't have shot him, he would have killed me… not to mentioned destroyed the evidence you and the District Attorney's office needed to get a conviction."

"I'm sorry," the senior agent replied, standing up, "but my answer is still no."

Brennan stood as well, glaring at the man who was, technically, her boss. "So, let me get this straight? Not only are you refusing to allow me to carry a gun… for my own safety, but you're also, for no reason might I add, making me work with somebody new, somebody other than Booth?"

"What do you mean for no reason? Booth quit. This wasn't my doing, Doctor Brennan. I never wanted to change anything. As far as I was concerned, your involvement with this agency was going as smoothly as possible, all things considered. No, your reassignment to a different agent rests on the shoulders of one person and one person only: your former partner, so, if you insist upon being mad at someone, take it up with Booth... if you can actually manage to get in touch with him. Now, if you'll excuse me," he offered, once more starting to move towards his office door, "I have an agency to run."

"No," she declared vehemently, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. "I won't do it."

"You won't do what – yell at Booth, or you won't…?"

"I won't work with anyone else," Brennan stated.

"If that is what you want, we'll release you from your contract and hire another forensic anthropologist, Doctor Brennan."

"But I'm the best."

"I'm well aware of that, but, again, I'm not firing the best forensic anthropologist in the country; you're quitting."

"I won't quit if you get Booth to come back," she bargained, hoping Cullen would be swayed by her threat to leave the Bureau to try harder to keep her partner from retiring, from resigning, from running away.

"I've done everything within my power to change his mind. He's not budging," the Deputy Director told her simply. "You're welcome to try, but all I have to say is good luck." Opening his office door, he paused to look back upon her. "If you change your mind, I'll have your new partner ready for you by Friday; if not, it was… productive working with you, Doctor Brennan."

With that, the senior agent left her alone, and Brennan collapsed back into the chair she had been sitting confidently in just minutes before. Half an hour earlier, she had entered the Hoover building, believing she would be leaving with a license to carry a concealed weapon, but, now, not only was she a gun permit short, but she was also an agent shy of a complete partnership.

Harrumphing noisily, Brennan pouted. So much for her excitement! Now, she was just pissed.

^ ! ^

Never before had he ever been so relaxed and casual during a job interview. Not even in high school had Booth shown such little regard for proper etiquette when it came to applying for work. At a young age, he had been taught to respect authority, not flaunt it, so, when he went to meet with future employers, he always wore his best. His shirts would be buttoned to the very top, his shoes polished, and his hair combed back and arranged so specifically, it wouldn't move for days afterward. But now? Now, he sat leaned back in a comfortable wicker chair, his loose, light-weight cotton button up shirt partially open to revealed his tanned chest, one sandaled foot propped up on the opposite knee.

"So, Agent Booth…"

"Please," he interrupted the older man sitting across from him, flashing what he knew to be a warm, convincing grin. "It's just Booth… or even Seeley. I'm not an agent anymore."

"Indeed, and may I be so candid as to ask why you quit your job with the United States government? From your credentials here, you had quite the impressive record. You were on your way to one day running the FBI."

Shrugging his shoulders in what was supposed to be a carefree, unconcerned gesture, he replied, "I needed a change in pace, in scenery. Flew down here a couple of weeks ago for vacation and woke up on my last day, realizing I didn't want to go back."

The older man smiled sympathetically. "No one wants to return home from paradise, Mr. Booth, but they do anyway."

"But why," he found himself questioning, leaning forward in his conviction. "If you're unhappy, if you needed a vacation so badly that, when it came time to leave, you just couldn't bring yourself to do so, then why not change your life, make it better?" Relaxing somewhat, he simply stated, "that's all I want to do."

"And you think hiding here from your old life will make you happy?"

"I'm not hiding," Booth argued. "Trust me, there's no hiding from the things I've seen – and done – over the years. It'll haunt me for the rest of my life, but that doesn't mean that I have to see – or do – anything else that will cause me nightmares." Realizing that he needed to switch tactics, that his case still wasn't registering for his interviewer, he confessed, "I'm a father, you know. I have a little boy - Parker. He's four. I live in the same town that he does, mere miles away, and do you know that weeks go by sometimes when I don't see him. Whether it's because my case load is too heavy or because his mom and I are scared that my work is going to someday touch him, put him at risk, it doesn't matter. Neither is a good enough reason to be an absentee father."

"So, your solution is to move thousands of miles away from your son?"

"No, my solution is make a life somewhere where it's safe for Parker, where it's safe for me, where we won't have to fear that I'll get killed out in the field or he'll be kidnapped by some psychotic mass murderer." Sighing, he admitted, "it's not perfect, I realize that, but this – me quitting the FBI, moving down here permanently, and getting this job - it's a start. It's a damn good start, and what an amazing experience it'll be for my little boy. To live in his country's capital part time, and then spend the rest of his days experiencing a whole different lifestyle, a whole different culture here with me - summers and holidays in paradise? Personally, I think I would be remiss as a father to turn such an opportunity… for the both of us… down."

"Are you sure you're a cop, Mr. Booth, and not a lawyer," the man across from him asked rhetorically, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement. "Fine, fine," he agreed, waving off any response Booth might have been forming. "You got the job, not that there was any doubt in either of our minds that I would eventually hire you. When I put that notice out, I thought it'd take me a year to find a suitable replacement, and I never dreamed I'd land myself a former Army Ranger turned Special Agent for the FBI. I would imagine our crime rate will practically disappear overnight when word spreads about you, and, given the speed of gossip in Alligator Pond, that means you'll no doubt be able to take a long lunch every day."

Booth grinned widely. "That'll work for me. My mouth's been watering to try some of your famous curried goat and red stripe beer since I set foot in town an hour ago."

"Come on," his predecessor invited, already moving towards the door himself. "I'll buy the first round, but, remember, after today, you're the law around here – police, judge, and jury, so let's get you soused while we still can."

They were both still chuckling when they left the tiny, little whitewashed office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

He was a weak man.

Reclined at his new desk, feet propped up on the nearly empty wooden space, Booth sat immersed in a scientific journal, one of those very publications he had seen Bones with countless times. In fact, the reason he was so interested in that particular periodical was because the good doctor had an article published within its glossy, boring pages. Although he wasn't particularly fond of anthropology... or forensics, for that matter, he did – secretly - have a weakness for pretty brunettes who were. While Bones might not be his partner any longer, he still wanted to be her friend.

And _only_ her friend.

He was almost positive.

In that spirit, for the past two days – ever since he'd successfully acquired his new job, he had been attempting – and failing – to reach the prickly PHD holder, but she wasn't answering her phone. Any of them, to be exact. Her home phone rang a dozen times before her machine picked, she was obviously screening her cell phone, and either his messages at the Jeffersonian were going undelivered or they were being ignored. While a part of Booth, the selfish part, hoped that Bones was simply busy with a case, he had a suspicion that she didn't particularly want to talk to him, and he couldn't blame her. He had quit, leaving her stranded without a partner, but, in his defense, he had warned her, confessing that he sometimes harbored thoughts of not returning from vacation, especially when he went alone.

A part of Booth wondered if he had shared that particular piece of personal information with his former partner because he had wanted her to volunteer to go with him. It made sense, especially considering the dreams he had experienced every single night of his ten day vacation. Now, despite the fact that he was pretty much on a permanent leave of absence from his past life, he still dreamt of her. No matter what he did, Bones was always on his mind. Instead of fighting her presence, he had decided to embrace it. Besides, there wasn't much of anything else for him to do while at work. He'd already taken a nap, and his deputy was off on a fruitless patrol. Two days in, and Booth already knew that nothing ever happened in Alligator Pond.

Pushing away his thoughts, he refocused upon the dry, fact drenched paragraph he had been trying to read for the past ten minutes. As the words flowed from the page, through his eyes, and into his brain, Booth could practically hear Bones' voice reading the information to him. While they might not have been partners for very long, she had still been an important part of his life for a couple of months. There was no bond quite like that which existed between two cops… or, in their case, one cop and a forensic anthropologist.

"I, at least, demand a phone call!"

Okay, those words were not on the page, so why exactly did he hear Bones yelling them?

"Girly, you're not in the U.S. anymore; this is Jamaica. If I want to stare at your pretty face all day long, then you'll stay here, so, if I were you, I'd be a little bit nicer."

Oh, no. That was definitely not the right thing to say to an angry Bones.

"You do realize that's sexual harassment."

His deputy remained silent, and Booth started to panic. Bones was there. _Here. _She was in Alligator Pond. And she had been arrested, apparently, by the man _he _employed. There was no way her appearance in the sleepy little fishing village was a coincidence. For one, he was there, and, two, there were no dead, decaying bodies… as far as he knew, and, if there were, then he sure as hell was in the wrong town to start his new peaceful lifestyle.

Allowing his chair to drop abruptly, Booth rushed to make himself look more presentable, to make himself appear busier than he actually was. Tossing aside the magazine he had been attempting to read, he pulled out some random file, opened it, and then remembered just what article he had been perusing and just who was about to be led into his office. Scrambling to shove the glossy periodical inside his desk where it couldn't be seen, he knew he was too late when he heard his former partner speak once more.

"What is that?"

He ignored her question, hoping to distract her by reminding her of her incarceration. "What did you do this time? You didn't shoot somebody again, did you?"

"Girly shot somebody before," his deputy asked rhetorically, sounding more impressed than frightened, whistling fondly. When Booth glared at him and Bones remained petulantly silent, the younger man straightened and attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to appear more professional. "I brought her in for reckless operation. The boys'll be lucky to catch anything this week with the way she was churning up the waters out there. She almost took out two different boats."

"See, this is why I never let you drive."

"No, you refused to allow me to drive because of your misguided chauvinistic attitude. You believe that just because you're a man, you can do certain things better than I can."

"I never said that, Bones."

"You implied your opinion quite clearly," she snapped, glowering darkly in his direction.

"Oh, I get it," his deputy remarked, and he literally sounded as if he had just been the recipient of a remarkably powerful brainstorm. "She's your baby mama."

Indignantly, Bones cried, "I am not. We never…." After several beats and a pointed glance from Booth, she admitted, "I don't know what that means. What's a baby mama?"

"It means exactly what it says, Bones – the mother of a baby."

"In this case, yours," she realized. Falling quiet for several moments, she regarded him closely. "Wait, does that mean you have a child."

"Okay, so you're definitely not his ex," Booth's deputy realized. "So, what, is she your current girlfriend?" Regarding his boss, he asked, "you didn't knock her up, too, right, because she doesn't seem like the maternal type… if you know what I mean."

"That I do know the meaning of, and, for your information, no, he did not… impregnate me." Visibly flinching at the very idea, his former partner refused to meet his gaze. Booth couldn't help but notice that she also blushed slightly. Although Bones would dismiss such a thing as a mere physical reaction to the Caribbean heat, he couldn't help but wonder…?

"And, furthermore, we're partners."

"Yeah, like I said, you're his girlfriend."

Bones huffed in frustration. "No, we work together. We are not, never have been, nor will we ever be sexually involved with one another."

His deputy smirked. "I'm sensing a lot of denial."

Before the situation could get any more out of hand, Booth decided to make introductions. "Tom, this is Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"Oh, so she's the lady you're always reading about in those stuffy magazines?"

This time it was his turn to glance away and flush in embarrassment.

"You've been reading my articles, Booth," his former partner asked, sounding both slightly impressed and touched. To think that all it would take to impress her was to confuse himself on a bunch of anthropology mumbu-jumbo…. "Wait," she protested his answering of her own question, saving him from having to reply. "More importantly, you have a child?"

"Yeah, he has a little boy," his employee answered for him, nodding towards the picture Booth kept on his desk. "Parker – he's four. Real cute kid – smart, too. I talked to him on the phone the other day while Booth was taking a leak."

"Tom, please," he beseeched his deputy.

"Right, sorry boss. Anyway, now that I think it about, you couldn't be his baby mama, because the kid's blonde, and you're definitely not."

"I'm impressed," Bones dryly mocked. Tom grinned, believing she was actually giving him a compliment until she continued talking. "Rude, sexist, and observant – wherever did you find such an world-class staff, Booth?"

Again, he ignored her. "Release her," he instructed, and Tom dutifully followed his instructions, thankfully remaining silent as he did so. Perhaps, after being stung by Bones' venomous tongue, he would continue to exclude himself from the conversation. "What are you doing here? I already know it's not for a very much needed vacation. There's no skeleton here for you to play with."

"Ew, you have a thing for dead people. Booth, you never told me your old partner was such a freak."

"Tom." This time, his voice left no room for arguing, and, without comment, his deputy backed out of the small office, his hands in the air as if being forced to leave by gunpoint. Perhaps Booth should have attempted such a removal five minutes earlier.

Refocusing his attention upon Bones, he pressed, "I'm still waiting for an answer."

"I would think my presence here would be obvious."

"Well, for shits and giggles, why don't you spell it out for me anyway."

Squaring her shoulders, she simply stated, "you refused to come back, so I'm here to take you back."

"You and what army?"

"I won't need to use force, Booth. Common sense will prevail."

"You want common sense," he offered her. "Fine." Finally standing up, he leaned forward against his desk, locking their gazes together unflinchingly. "Since I was eighteen years old, I've dealt with death on a daily basis. I'm sick of it. No matter how many cases I solve, there's always another one, one more gruesome and twisted than the last. I've put my time in, I've helped others, and, now, I just need a break."

She went to protest, but he held up a hand, calmly stopping her so he could continue. "I have a four year old son whom I never get to see. A few days at Christmas, maybe his birthday, we go on vacation together once a year, but that's it. His mother is afraid of my job. Hell, I'm afraid of my job, that it'll one day bleed into Parker's life. For four years, he was at risk on a daily basis because of what I did, but no more. Now, he'll be safe… or, at least, safer, and Rebecca has already agreed to a much better custody arrangement, so, from where I'm standing, my decision has already paid off."

"Yes, what we do is dangerous," Bones allowed, her voice soft and gentle with a strain of compassion he'd never quite heard from her before, "and, yes, it's emotionally exhausting, but it's important. Without us, murderers would walk free to kill again. If you're doing this for your son, then are you willing to trust someone else with his safety, because, if you're not the one putting the bad guys away, Booth, who will be? Are they as good of an agent as you are, will be they be as sympathetic, will they care as much? As for your son's day to day safety, if you and Rebecca are so concerned, hire somebody. Hire him a bodyguard, put him in a private school, install a home security system, but don't bury your head in the sand and believe the problem will go away just because you want it to."

"When did you start using euphemisms?"

Protesting, she whined, "Booth…!"

"It's too late, Bones. Even if I wanted to go back – which I don't, I already quit."

"Cullen would take you back," his partner answered. "Even if he didn't want to, I would pull some strings, and…."

Once more, he interrupted her. "There will be no string pulling. I'm done with the FBI."

"So, just like that, you're throwing your entire life away?" Before he could respond, she asked, "and what about me?"

"You?"

"I am your partner, Booth."

"Were my partner," he corrected her, "and I had to trick you into working with me in the first place."

"Actually, I blackmailed you, but that's immaterial at this point. I really don't want to have to break in another agent."

"Excuse me - break in?"

"You know," she waved off his objection. "Train. We worked well together. You'd talk… a lot, console the families, and I would solve the crimes."

Chuckling without humor, Booth reclaimed his seat. "See, even you admit that you don't need me."

"I never said that," she argued.

"Maybe not explicitly, Bones, but," he turned her own words back upon her. "But you implied your opinion quite clearly. Besides, the FBI won't want to lose you. They'll assign you some new agent, and you'll continue to solve their cases for them while my replacement talks a lot and consoles the victims."

"It was not my intentions to marginalize your importance, Booth," his former partner said in her own way of apologizing.

"Look, Bones, it doesn't matter, okay?" Holding out his hand to her, he offered, "friends?"

Before she could return the gesture, not that he was sure she was actually going to, his phone rang. When he ignored it, she asked, "aren't you going to answer it? It might be some big, important case, seeing as how you believe Alligator Pond is more deserving of your time than the city your own son lives in."

Growling, Booth ripped the receiver from its cradle, barking, "what," instead of a greeting. He listened to the complaint from the person on the other line, promising to be there as soon as he could. Once he hung up, he readdressed his angry former partner. "I need to…."

"Of course," Bones agreed, though he could tell she wasn't sincere. "May I ask what the emergency is?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. It's official police business." While he knew his words would hurt his friend, he also wasn't about to tell her he was being called out to settle a dispute between two elderly neighbors who were bickering over the dividing line between their properties.

"Well, in that case, if you would be so kind as to have your deputy release my belongings to me, I'll be leaving."

"Do you want me to drop you off back at my place, or are you renting a house while you're here?"

"This wasn't a social call, Booth. I came to convince you to return with me, you refused, so I'm leaving. I'd tell you good luck, but I really wouldn't mean it."

Without waiting for him to respond, she turned on her heel and fairly marched out of his office, shoulders squared and pushed back, head held high, and chin tilted up. Bones was a proud woman, and never before had he felt so insignificant to her, not even on the day they had first met.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

She was exhausted, and cranky, and she desperately needed to get out of her D.C. clothes and into some island-wear, contempo-causal threads, but her ride was late, and the fact that she had Booth's kid clamped around her neck like a dead-weight monkey, a dinosaur piercing the skin of her shoulder, and a toy car running up and down her back didn't particularly help matters either. When she had been promised five days in paradise, this was not what she had envisioned.

Luckily, she had been able to find a sympathetic airport employee who, for a crisp Andrew Jackson, scrounged up their luggage and deposited it directly at her feet. She didn't even want to imagine what trying to collect their bags on her own would have been like while wrangling a rambunctious four year old at the same time. At least, if nothing else, she now knew that, when you traveled with children, you did not wear heels.

Spotting the former FBI agent who was about to receive a piece of her mind… on more than one account, she sighed in relief. "Finally," she accused him as he approached. "What took you so long, and do not even attempt to tell me it was the traffic. I've been here before, buddy, and Kingston isn't that happening in the middle of the night… especially for someone who used to navigating the Beltway. So, spill. What was it? Some island bunny distracting you, a Bob Marley sighting, what?"

"Angela, not now, okay?"

Booth was going to say more, but, before he could, the monkey around her neck let go and leapt from her arms into his fathers, squealing and hitting Booth in the face with the toy dinosaur. "Daddy!"

"Hey, there, Parker." Hugging his son tightly, Booth closed his eyes for several seconds, inhaling his little boy's scent. Almost belatedly, Angela realized that the four year old did smell good – like memories from when she was young, clean innocence, and laundry detergent, and her resentment towards father and son diminished slightly as she witnessed their joyous reunion. But just a little bit, because she was still pissed at Booth, and no amount of fatherly cuteness was going to win her back over to his side.

"Come on, let's get out of here. We have a good hour and half, at least, of driving ahead of us, and I know you must be tired from your trip." To punctuate his statement, Parker yawned dramatically. "You can yell at me… quietly… all you want once we're on our way and this little guy's asleep, deal?"

Angela rolled her eyes, already pulling her own luggage behind her on the way to the airport's exit. "I really don't see any other option, do you?"

Without responding, Booth simply picked up his son's small duffel bag and followed her outside. Silently, they loaded his older model, no doubt borrowed car. While he buckled Parker into his booster seat, Angela put their luggage in the truck. Almost simultaneously, they got into the car. Booth started the ignition, went to pull out of his parking spot, but, before he did, he turned towards her and demanded, "seat belt, please."

"They're uncomfortable and terrible against silk."

"Then maybe you should have thought about that before you got dressed this morning. Put it on."

Pouting slightly despite the fact that she knew such behavior was both immature and beneath her, Angela complied. Annoyed, her initial plan had been to freeze the former agent out, refuse to speak to him until he couldn't take the quiet and her frosty attitude any longer, but, five minutes into their car ride, she was already caving, bored and in desperate need to bring up the one subject neither of them were probably ready to discuss. However, she attempted a smooth transition, started with one topic that would hopefully lead into another.

"At least tell me I'll have my own room. After sitting beside your son on the flight down here, there's no way I'm sharing a bed with him, too, no matter how big it is. I don't think my kidneys could take that kind of abuse."

"You'll be in my room, Angela, and I'll take the couch."

Smirking, she queried, "was that going to be the sleeping arrangement for Brennan, too, or were you going to try to share a room with her?"

Booth glanced in the rearview mirror briefly, making sure that his little boy was already sleeping before he glared at her. "How many times do Bones and I have to say it? We're just…"

"What," Angela interrupted him. "Partners? Ah, except you're not partners anymore, remember, because you quit. You can't use that excuse anymore."

"We're just friends," he gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Really, because, in my book, friends don't quit on each other; friends don't throw each other to the wolves and abandon one another." So much for the charming and polite approach. "So, again, let me ask: just what exactly were the sleeping arrangements going to be if Brennan had made this trip?"

"You already know the answer to that," her unwitting host barked in response, "so, I'd say the better question here is what the hell are you doing in Jamaica? Where exactly is Bones? The deal was that she would bring Parker down here to see me, not you. If I'd known that she wasn't going to come, I would have just flown up to D.C. to pick him up myself."

"And, what, miss this great opportunity for the two of us to bond," Angela glibly asked. "After the stunt you pulled, you should just consider yourself lucky that Brennan will even answer your emails. There was no way she was going to fly down here and spend Thanksgiving with you and your son. Just how much rum have you consumed since you ran away from home?"

"Hey, I didn't run away," Booth defended himself. "I re-prioritized."

But Angela simply waved his justification off. "Semantics, my friend, mere semantics. Anyway," she sighed, readjusting her long legs and crossing the right one over the left before continuing. "As for Brennan, she said that she was too busy with work and her new book to just fly off to paradise. When I said that I wasn't, I became the lucky winner of a free trip to Jamaica."

"And does Rebecca know about this?"

Feigning shocked denial, the artist replied, "why no, she doesn't! I just fled the country with your very minor son without ever informing his mother that I was taking him. Silly me, Booth! I guess I just committed kidnapping." Removing the contrived levity from her voice, Angela stated, "of course she knows, you idiot. In fact, during the last few weeks, the three of us – Rebecca, Parker, and I have spent a few afternoons together just to make sure that your little boy and your ex were both comfortable with me."

"You've been spending time with Rebecca… like doing what, bonding?"

"Out of everything I just said, that's what you chose to focus on?" Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she smiled serenely. "Sure, Booth, whatever you say. We bonded - made friendship bracelets and baked cupcakes together. We're not bestest friends yet, and we're planning a slumber party for next weekend."

"Alright, I get your point."

As he brooded, clenching the steering wheel so tightly Angela was surprised he didn't pull it off its mounting entirely, she simply watched as the dark, tropical scenery passed by the car's speeding windows. They had just left the city limits and were already moving along deserted, rural roads. Unlike her previous trips to the island, this time she would not be staying in a hotel, and she wouldn't be seeing only the tourist attractions. Alligator Pond had certainly not been on her guided tour across Jamaica during college.

It was Booth, moments later, who broke the silence that had fallen so densely between them. "Tell me about Bones' new partner."

Demanding that he say please first had been on the tip of Angela's tongue, but she brushed the juvenile urge aside and plainly answered, "his name's Jaime Kenton."

"Wait, who," Booth demanded before she could explain further. "Did you just say Jaime Kenton? But he works the organized crime division."

"Not any more, apparently," she retorted. "Cullen had to work quickly, I guess, to find a suitable replacement for you."

"And do he and Bones work well together?"

Angela had to hold back a smirk, for she could practically hear just how painful those words had been for Booth to say. "Well, he got her a gun."

"What?!"

Despite her efforts not to, she laughed at the former agent's displeasure and disbelief. "I know, Brennan was just as shocked. Two days before she flew down here to try and convince you to come back, she met with Cullen, and he made it clear in no uncertain terms that he would not grant her request to carry a concealed weapon. Three days after she flew back home, Kenton waltzed into the Jeffersonian and literally tossed her a gun, told her that, if she was going to be watching his back, she was going to do it armed. That was the one and only thing they ever agreed upon."

"Don't you find that a little suspicious," Booth wanted to know. "I mean, the guy's a former undercover cop in the mob, and, suddenly, he's handing out semi-automatics like they're candy from a quarter machine."

"Please, you're not suggesting that he's dirty, that he's given Brennan an illegal weapon, and that he's planning on framing her for some mafia hit, are you?" Angela snickered. "Since when did Hodgins hand down his conspiracy king title to you?"

Excusing his concerns, Booth said, "just forget it and tell me more."

"Well, let's see…? They fight constantly - about everything - and not in the playful, flirtatious way that the two of you used to." When he went to protest her choice of words, Angela held up a single hand to stop him. "Do not interrupt me, okay?" As he remained quiet, she proceeded. "Basically, they're like two passing ships in the night. They each do their own thing and then pass the information on to each other. Brennan's back to spending most of her time in the lab, and Jaime handles all the investigating on his own. Since you quit, she's thrown herself into her work even more than before. I think she sleeps on the couch in her office more than she does her own bed. She's twice as withdrawn, and, for Brennan, that's saying a whole hell of a lot. She's short with Zack, too, and do not even get me started on the whole Michael Stires fiasco."

"Who's Michael Stires?"

"Brennan's old college professor, you know… the one she had the ongoing affair with."

"Uh, no, I didn't know anything about that," Booth revealed, sounding none too pleased with the fact either.

"Oh, well, I guess that was just a personal detail that slipped Brennan's mind, sort of like how you forgot to tell her that you had a son."

"Angela…."

Although he only said her name, she could hear the warning tone in the former agent's voice. "Alright, fine. Moving on. So, anyway, Brennan's old professor came back into town. Of course, they immediately started sleeping with each other again, she was all glowy and happy… well as much as Brennan can glow and be happy, and then it was revealed that he was working for the defense team on this case that Brennan and Kenton had put together. Her evidence was flawless, but Michael tore her down personally on the stand, questioning her judgment, wondering out loud to the jury why she even became a forensic anthropologist, and he was charming, Booth. The jury ate his testimony up with a spoon and then begged for more, and you know Brennan. She's cold, and harsh, and all about the facts, and, when it comes down to it, she can be really alienating, especially towards strangers. They lost the case, and the defendants got off. She really took it hard, took it personally."

"All of this is terrible," Booth sympathized. "I hate the fact that she doesn't like her partner, that she's closing herself off again emotionally, and that her ex-boyfriend came into town and embarrassed her professionally, but you seem to be blaming me. I can hear the accusation in your voice, Angela, but none of this is my fault."

Staring at him in shock, she regarded the man beside her closely, looking for any indicator that he was either lying or masking the truth. She couldn't find anything. "You really don't get it, do you?"

Booth simply shrugged his shoulders.

"If you can't see my point on your own, then you're not ready yet to hear it."

Uncrossing her legs, she turned away to lean her head against the cool metal of the car's frame. The wind whipping in from her open window caused her long, dark hair to twist and turn, to blow distractingly into her face, but she didn't mind; she didn't push it back or away. It was nice, in fact, because the flurry of strands helped to hide her feelings – her disappointment, her sense of failure, her melancholy.

Brennan needed Booth in her life, but, until her best friend's partner realized that on his own, there was nothing she could do to convince him. Suddenly, five days in paradise had turned into a temporary hell of her own making.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Dude!"

"Hodgins," Booth returned apathetically.

In horror, he watched as the former agent downed what remained in his nearly empty mug. "Please tell me that you did not just drink some of my eggnog."

"Hey, it was in the fridge. If you didn't want me to touch it, you should have put a note on it or something."

"Oh, this is not good." Taking the barstool next to Booth, Hodgins held his head while he shook it in an odd combination of both amusement and despair. "I mean this is really, _really _not good."

"What?" Suddenly interested, the cop faced him. "Why? Why is drinking a little eggnog bad?"

"While I realize that we haven't known each other for that long yet, Booth, surely by now you've pick up on the fact that I don't do things like other people. That eggnog was spiked."

"Yeah, so what? Most eggnog has alcohol in it."

Emphasizing his words, Hodgins replied, "not _pure _alcohol. Give it a few more minutes, and you'll be slurring your words and finding me irresistible. Give it a half an hour, and you'll be out for the night... and probably a good portion of tomorrow as well." Grimacing, he said, "I hope you weren't supposed to work in the morning."

"No, I took the next few days off to spend with Parker," Booth replied. Though his voice was controlled and his words non-menacing, Jack could still hear the tightly leashed fury struggling to break free underneath the calm facade.

"Oh. Good."

"No, not good, Hodgins, because, if I can't work, I can't spend time with my son either."

Attempting a far brighter outlook than he actually possessed, he suggested, "or you could use this as the perfect platform to discuss the evilness of drinking." Chuckling encouragingly, he added, "I don't know about you, but that sounds like some serious father-son bonding time to me. Parker will remember your talk for years of Christmases to come."

"Yeah," Booth responded dryly, "because his father was hungover. If Rebecca – Parker's mother - finds out about this..."

Sobering, Hodgins became serious. "Look, I'm sorry man. I honestly believed that you weren't the eggnog kind of guy, and, to be completely honest, I just wasn't thinking. I mean, I'm not a dad – thank god, and I kind of forget sometimes that the rest of the world isn't familiar with the effects of pure alcohol. Everybody back at the lab is used to my annual holiday shenanigans. In fact, Doctor Brennan's probably thrilled that she won't have to deal with liquor induced shoddy work this year, my gift to her via your generous offer."

"I might currently be suffering under the effects of alcohol poisoning," the former agent prefaced, "but I can still smell an awkward transition when I hear one."

He feigned innocence, laughing and wagging a finger in Booth's direction. "You're tipsy, my friend. I wasn't acting awkwardly, and I certainly wasn't trying to steer us towards a different topic of conversation."

"Well, fine," the other - larger - man acknowledged. "Maybe I was. Why the hell are you and your little ski bunny here, Hodgins?"

"She isn't a ski bunny; she's a French-Canadian masseuse. And I'd be a little nicer to her if I were you, buddy, because she's the reason that you get to see your son this Christmas."

"Even without the eggnog, I wouldn't understand that logic."

"I was supposed to spend the holidays with her in Canada, buried under two feet of snow in a private, secluded cabin," Jack explained slowly. "But, when I told her about your predicament and how there were these two tickets to Jamaica just sitting there on Doctor Brennan's desk about to go to waste, she insisted that I trade my own flight plans in and agree to escort Parker down here to you."

"You do realize that she just wanted a free trip to the Caribbean herself, right, that her insistence that you bring my son to me had absolutely nothing to do with compassion or the Christmas spirit?"

"And how would you know that," Hodgins protested, challenged. "Maybe she has a soft spot for fathers who don't get to spend as much time with their kids as they'd like to." With a pointed glance from the man sitting beside him, he relented. "Alright, fine. It's more likely that she has a soft spot for white sand beaches and tropical, fruity drinks. However, magnanimous gesture or selfish gratification, Parker's here, and it's because of my French-Canadian masseuse."

Swiveling around to face him, an inebriated Booth had to lean back against the kitchen countertop before speaking to insure that he didn't fall off his barstool. "And where is Bones?"

"At home. In the lab. Working." At the former agent's puzzled expression, he clarified, "her new partner brought her over a present in the form of a dead body found in a fallout shelter which had been sealed for nearly fifty years. He skipped out right away, not even sticking around to kiss Angela underneath the mistletoe... though she offered quite profusely, and the rest of us were dismissed, sent home by Brennan not long after that. She was going to order us to stay and work over the holiday, but Doctor Goodman insisted that we all had plans, so here I am."

"And there she is."

"Yeah, but you can't be surprised about that, man. I mean, this is Doctor Brennan – the woman who has never taken part in Secret Santa, the woman who bans Christmas carols from being played in the lab, the woman who didn't even know that I was insulting her when I called her The Grinch. Of course she'd be working. Where else would she be?"

"I don't know," Booth replied sarcastically. "Maybe here. After all, that is why I sent her _two _tickets – one for Parker and one for herself. I'm not stupid. I get Bones. And I knew that she wouldn't be into celebrating a holiday that she probably doesn't even believe in, but even she needs a break from murder and death sometimes. I thought this trip would be a good way for her to relax."

"And it wouldn't hurt matters either that you'd get to see her again, huh, spend some time with her? You miss Brennan, don't you?"

"That has nothing... This is about her, okay? Bones needs to get herself a life before she burns out the way I did."

Electing to allow the more personal aspect of their discussion to drop, Hodgins remained silent, contemplating what he should say next. Eventually, he said, "alright, look. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, because Angela told me in confidence after Goodman told her, but, non-believer or not, Christmas isn't really a good time for Doctor Brennan. Her parents left, disappeared, died – I don't know – during the holiday season back when she was fifteen. That's what Christmas means to her – people leaving, her family being destroyed. Trust me. The best place for her right now is in that lab. Maybe she's even solving a case similar to her parents' for someone else."

This time, it was Booth's turn to sit in thoughtful silence. Finally, he accused, "there's something you're not telling me. I can tell. You put this whole sad but healthy spin on the fact that Bones is alone during the holidays, but you did it in a way that was meant to distract me."

"You know, for a guy who just drank an entire mugful of pure alcohol spiked eggnog, you're still pretty sharp."

The former agent glared at him. "Quit avoiding my question."

"Actually, he pointed out, "I don't think you really asked me anything."

"What aren't you telling me about Bones?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Hodgins assured him. "In fact, Angela made me promise not to tell you, because she said that you'd just worry for nothing. It's okay. We'll handle it... somehow."

Just like a big, fat, juicy nightcrawler wiggling on a hook for, Jack waited for Booth to leap out of the water and trap himself on the bait he had provided. It worked like a charm, for the other man immediately demanded to know what was going on... just like Angela said he would. "Handle what? What the hell is wrong with Bones?"

"Well, you see, she's just... withdrawing."

"So what? Bones has always been emotionally distant."

"Yeah, well, it's worse. A lot worse," Jack revealed purposefully. "Ever since Angela came down here for Thanksgiving, she's been cold and completely closed off. It's like she expected something to happen, something that she really wanted, and, when it didn't, she lost all hope."

Booth eyed him warily. "That doesn't sound like Bones."

"Yeah, well, no one thought you'd up and quit the FBI either, so it looks like everybody's acting a little strangely lately."

In an obvious attempt to gloss over his accusation, the former agent cleared his throat, coughed, and then queried, "what's going on with everyone else? You've mentioned Angela, Doctor Goodman. What are they doing for the holidays?"

"Angela was going off to spend some time with her father. You know," he admitted, realizing in that moment what he was about to reveal, "she was acting all weird, too, before I left – like there was something she was hiding about her dad."

"Maybe he's sick and she doesn't want anyone to know."

"That's not the vibe I was getting," Hodgins responded. Shrugging away his thoughts, he continued. "Anyway, Goodman was spending the holidays with his family. Turns out the guy is married and has twin five year old daughters. He showed me a picture of them."

"And...?"

"And what?"

"What did his daughters look like," Booth asked.

Finally, the booze kicked in. Incredulously, he answered, "like kids. How else would they look?"

The other man chuckled – at what though, he had no idea. "And what about Zack?"

"Get this," Hodgins replied. "He comes from like this huge, _normal, _mid-western family. I never would have guessed."

"Yeah, well, if they're related to that nerd, they can't be that normal." More to himself than out loud, Booth continued, "I can't believe there are more than one Zack Addy's out there."

"I know what you mean."

"How many are there? Did he tell you," the former agent inquired.

"From what he said, probably dozens at least."

"Scary."

Visibly shuddering, he agreed with the other man. "Zack is good for a laugh, though. Before he left, he built this robot that was supposed to be voice activated, only it didn't actually do what it was told."

"Ah, just like all you squints – too smart to actually listen."

"Hey, you're not an FBI agent anymore there, buddy," Jack chastised him. "That means that you can't call us squints anymore."

"Why? If the lab coat fits."

Ending the discussion, Hodgins stood up and said, "it's time for you to go to bed before you pass out and I'm forced to drag your ass all the way to the couch."

"It's just across the room," Booth pointed out as he stood up and wobbled his way to the sofa.

As the other man collapsed, he responded, "yeah, well, agent or not, your forearms are still the size of my thighs." Tossing a blanket in the cop's direction, he offered, "goodnight, Booth."

He heard a mumbled, "night," in return as he quietly made his way towards the bedroom he was sharing with his French-Canadian masseuse. Just as he was about to leave the room, though, he heard Booth moving about behind him, so he paused, hidden in the shadows and watched as his friend fumbled around on the coffee table for his cell phone, eventually finding it and dialing someone's number by memory. It rang and rang, though. No one answered.

"Damn it, Bones," Booth cursed, tossing his mobile aside.

With a sympathetic grin, Hodgins turned around and went back to bed, realizing that he never did get that drink of water he wanted in the first place. Instead, though, he got something much better: more confirmation of Booth's feelings... just as Angela had instructed him to wrangle out of the former agent. His spiked eggnog worked like a charm. It always did.


End file.
